Envy
by Mallorn Took
Summary: Clubs, glitter, a charmingly devious Sirius, an enviously transfixed Remus, temptation, and reconciliation. Post Hogwarts.
1. Part I

**Disclaimer:**   
These characters who I mar   
With my faltering phrases   
And fangirlish crazes   
Do not belong to me but rather to dear JKR! 

This is a PWP that became infected with some semblance of a plot after the uninvited intrusion of a flamingly gay fictional character. So remember to get your PWP's vaccinated against plots. Consists of three parts and an epilogue. 

**Envy**

**Part I**

The lurid lights flickered to deranged cadence, plunging the room into thick, suffocating darkness before illuminating it with scorching colored lights. Sirius was hollering over the din of the music and raucous, drunken laughter. He gravitated towards the floor where shadowy figures illuminated by the manic, pulsing blinking of the lights twisted and pivoting frantically. His grip on my wrist was tight and urgent as he wove through the whirling, shuddering mass of bodies. I was drawn after him into the throng, the slick, sweaty flesh of the dancing bodies pressing suffocatingly close. The crowd was a insect, nudged on its shell-scalloped back, its many limbs flailing and thrashing; its innards naked. 

Sirius' knees were buckling and his slender hips were grinding into my crotch in perfect time to the throbbing beat of the music emoting from the speakers. 

He looked so perfectly in place among these clubbers, these beautiful people with coal outlined eyes and taunt bodies gyrating beneath their slick leather clothes. His black hair was elegantly snarled while mine was foolishly mussed and ruffled. His lithe frame was tantalizing and temptingly slender while I was scrawny and gawky. He was effortlessly poised and exuded a sexuality that caused heads- male and female- to pivot sharply in his direction. I was just Remus with knocking, knobby knees and sharp, jutting elbows. 

I wanted the floor, shuddering with the stampings of dozens of feet, to open up into a gaping yawn and swallow me whole, to inhale me.

But I stood awkwardly, arms hanging stupidly at my sides, trying to quell the feeling of pleasure that was unraveling itself in the pit of my stomach. He smirked deviously, feeling my erection through my jeans. 

"Sorry mate! Couldn't resist." he yelled charmingly, embracing me so I could feel his own arousal. He eagerly, insatiably kissed my neck, sucking at the pale flesh, gnawing and nipping hungrily. 

I cast wary glances about the room, looking the writhing crush to gauge their reactions. They were too far absorbed in their own manic dancing to pay us the slightest heed. Beside us were a couple, messily devouring each other's faces, rasping and gasping crudely. Two men to the left were adhered together at the crotch. One was licking the other's bejeweled neck; the gold that encircled his neck was reflecting the light and sparkling gaudily. One man of the pair had a snake of gold cutting a venomous path up the bronzed, sweat-slicked flesh of his arm and his eyes were orbited by flecks of shimmer. 

Apparently a couple, two men in fact, feverishly kissing wasn't an unfamiliar sight here. 

One heavily made-up girl looked crestfallen; her coal-rimmed eyes, a shocking shade of violet, had followed Sirius since our arrival, widening with shallow lust as he danced. The vermillion gash of her lipstick was now turned upside down in disapproving envy when she saw Sirius pressed tightly up against me. 

"They're all bloody faggots," she hissed acidly, so I could hear. She strutted past in her towering, teetering heels, flipping us a red nail polish crowned birdie. 

Sirius had always been unabashed with our relationship; tightly grasping my hand when we sauntered towards the Muggle supermarket to purchase milk and greeting me with mind-addling, sloppily ravenous kisses in public. I would stand stiffly, uncomfortable with exposing this private part of my life to the public. 

"Sirius," I grated vainly. My head lolled backwards as the rafters and wincing lights above me spun into a sickening, caustic haze. It was as if I was being severed in two. My body was responding to the feather light touch of Sirius' hand now slipped inside my jeans while all my abashed logic begged me to wrench away. 

It was the girl, her puckered, spit-slicked lips forming an aghast O, staring at me with envious mockery that finally made me lurch away. She laughed raucously, mute in the din of the club. 

Sirius easily masked his shock, quickly morphing the grimace of his beautiful features into a dismissive smirk. He veered around, immersing himself in the throng of whirling bodies, absorbed by the writing leather monster unraveling its dozens of legs on the dance floor. 

I retreated to the bar, pitching into a teetering bar stool dismally. The man with the gold gilded snake band winding up his arm perched on the barstool next to mine next to me and peered at me curiously. He was clad in glinting, glimmering gold pants slung precariously low on his slight hips. His hair was violently crimson against his pale skin; the flesh of his slender chest was nearly translucent and his ribs protruded. 

"Is he with you?" he asked, gesturing towards Sirius. He brought a cigarette up to his glossed lips and took a long drag, his glitter blazoned cheeks hollowing as he inhaled. 

"Well... I don't know..." I stammered, tripping over the syllables. I gazed at the swarm of dancers under the winking lights, spying Sirius dancing in their midst. 

"Envy," the man exhaled with a curling puff of blue smoke. 

"What?" 

"It's all dripping with envy. I'm envious because he's gorgeous and yours. You're envious because he's gorgeous and might not be yours for long," he said. "Do you want a drink?" he inquired abruptly. 

I nodded. He signaled the bartender with a sharp snap of his slender white fingers and two long stemmed glasses of an electrically hued liquid appeared on the counter. 

"Cheers," the man said, clinking his glass against mine with a light twinkle. 

"Cheers," I replied morosely, tentatively bringing to the rim of the glass to my lips. My lips puckered with the sourness of the drink and I salivated with the sweetness. It was acidic and sugary, frothing and burning its way down my throat. My companion gnashed on ice, scrutinizing me, gauging my reaction. 

" 'S good," I mumbled before tipping the glass back once more. 

"I'm glad you like it," he said, taking a long sip. When he set the glass down a glittery smudged dash of red remained from his swollen lips.

"Where's your..." I stuttered. 

"Ellie, you mean. Mr. Elliot is probably participating in some sex act in the loo," he said, sealing his lips around the maraschino cherry that had been lurking with the ice at the bottom of the glass. 

"And you don't care?" 

"I don't own Ellie," he said. "And Ellie certainly doesn't have any claim on me. Hey, why don't we make this boy of yours a bit... envious," he said, words laced in a sweet poison. His spindly fingers traversed up my inner thigh, tickling and caressing through my jeans. 

I gulped. I couldn't look away; the sight of him gazing up at me steadily through tendrils of violently red hair as his fingers edged nearer and nearer to my crotch was hypnotic. My intake of breath was sharp as he teasingly stroked my erection.

He smirked. "You're mine. For a few short hours you're mine." 

I gazed over to Sirius who was standing blankly at me and swiftly leaned over catch this man's shimmering lips under mine. 


	2. Part II

**Envy**

**Part II**

Everything was wheeling, reeling, around my head.

My companion was shifting out of focus only to careen sharply into my line of vision, the imperfections of his white face illuminated harshly by the strobe lights. His eyeliner was drawn drunkenly, encompassing his bloodshot eyes, pupils narrow with hallucination and anticipation. His red hair was like a blood bag he was dragging after himself. It seemed all his blood had surged from his emaciated limbs, speckled with the bites of needles, to come to the tips of his hair.

We were caught in a tangle of limbs, stumbling along the corridor towards the loo.

We lurched into the door which gave way with a jolt, hurtling us into the room. We fell on the filthy, chipped tile and I stared upward at the blinking, swaying light overhead, drawn to it like a moth. The room reeked of urine, vomit, semen, and smoke. The room was teeming with limp, sweaty bodies, writhing in drug-heightened pleasure, wedged in the narrow stalls, ravenously licking semen from their lips.  
I glanced upward at my companion who, standing, was slithering out of his garish gold pants, beckoning me toward him with a crook of his spindly finger. Was this where I belonged, performing cheap tricks like a trained seal to sate someone else's crude sexual appetite? I didn't even know this man's name, was acquainting only with his sickly, yearning exterior. I knew hardened, pierced nipples, the sunken belly, and the erection but not his last name, his address, or how he liked to eat his eggs.

"Who are you? What's your name?" I asked urgently as he wrapped his needle punctured arms around me. I gazed at his cadaverous body, arching in anxious lust, and my stomach pitched suddenly and violently towards my throat. 

"Bambi," he said.

It was so grotesque, so nauseating. A man, blood streaming with heroin yet belly empty of all food, the polarity of innocence, who has given himself the name of a guileless deer. It was as if this Bambi was rupturing innocence, a gloatingly fat and happy balloon of ingenue sailor collars and baby dolls. He was living off the helium of burst innocence. That was his drug. He had intruded into a whimsical childhood tale, drunk and naked, to snatch the name from a character, to dub himself Bambi in a sick contradiction.

"How do you like your eggs?" I asked, crouching on the bathroom floor of a filthy club, poised to take this man into my mouth.

"Scrambled," he said, itching irritably at his crotch.

"Sirius doesn't like eggs."

The music in the club subsided to static choked noise with a deranged beat. In the light, quavering on and off, I saw the hideous underbelly of the leather clad monster. They were intoxicated. They were painted like comic, obscene clowns. They leered lewdly at me from all angles They quaked with withdrawal and thrashed with highs. They were infected with pox on their genitals and lice festered in their hair. They were toying coquettishly with death. And death was winning, leaving them emaciated, sustained only by heroin and the helium of burst innocence.

It wasn't glamorous. It was garish, ghoulishly surreal and brutally real. These people weren't beautiful. They were spot riddled, putrid-breathed wraiths, masquerading for a night in one immense hallucination. But it won't last and the hangover would be bitter. When their money ran out they would wallow in the gutter and claw at their eyes and tear at their flesh, unable to gets their highs.

Life's just a drunken tease to them. But they're the ones that are being tricked, conned, fooled.

I wanted to be caught up in Sirius' arms, slender but not gaunt and skeletal, to lie with him in a web of intertwined limbs, sheets, and lives. I yearned for him to stand behind me, chin cradled on my shoulder, fingers prodding playfully at my navel and meandering down to trace an erotic line down my arousal, as I tried to make eggs in the kitchen of our flat. He would wrinkle up his arched, high bred nose, as I fried them, distracting me by nipping at my ear and sucking at the flesh of my neck. Sirius has never liked eggs.

I wheeled around, reeled around, looking for him. But Sirius was nowhere to be found.

* * *

The random gay man's name was initially a joke but it amused me so greatly I couldn't change it... even though it does invoke images of a deer crying for his mother. I am a whore to my muse, alas... (and so obviously influenced by Annie Proulx's _Brokeback Mountain_ in the description of the stench of the rank bathroom) 

Feedback coveted! 


	3. Part III

**Envy**

**Part II**

I was hunched over the gaping mouth of a trash can , reeking of urine and spoiled Chinese food, vomiting in the alley. I wanted to purge my memory, to vomit up the recollections, to spill them upon the sidewalk. I didn't remember what was making me so ill, the drink or Bambi. Bambi who was giddily burning through his skeletal body, a glutton for sex and shallow passion. He was starving for sustenance and love while he feasted, gorged, on other's sickly bodies, neglecting to take care of his own. I would have been used for a night, someone's flesh to take refuge in, a retreat from real life. I would have been a mouth to take him in, lick up the mess. A mouth to tear whimpers and screams from, sounds he would savor and relish like a desert. I would have been just a body to him, a body that became part of the hallucination, a body that delayed the inevitable return to reality.  
And that thought made me sick.

I wanted Sirius. I needed him to firmly grasp my collar as I vomited, fondly mocking me. I needed him to be there when I woke up, arms still holding me tight, a sweet, chaste reminder of lust. I needed someone to hoard secrets for, someone to whisper delicious little intimacies to. I needed someone to cook breakfast for, someone who would eat, someone who would give a puckered grimace to a plate of eggs.

And suddenly he was there.

"You can not hold your liquor, mate," he said. The world reeled about me, a kaleidoscope wheeling around and around, the colors melding into a nauseating haze. Sirius' face slid into focus; he was gazing at me, vomit dribbling on to my coat, adoringly. "Do remember the time James and I got you plastered after finals sixth year?"

"How could I forget?" I groaned, lurching violently into Sirius' open arms. "I also remember that you weren't quite sober yourself."

Sirius smirked mischievously and righted me. Everything, the star flecked dome of the night sky, the graffiti blazoned walls of the grimy alley, the pavement below our feet, revolved and whirled around me. And this time it was not the alcohol that caused this mad jarring of the world. I faltered, pitching into Sirius once more, inhaling the the alluring, smoky, spicy scent that lingered on him. His breath, feverish on my forehead, was laced in the sweetly sour aroma of beer. The sensation of his slender yet strong arms cradling my slumped frame, one leg pressed tautly against my crotch was intoxicating. More intoxicating even than that electrically charged cocktail of seduction I had gulped with Bambi. A coil of throbbing lust was unraveling in the pit of my stomach, pleasurable this time rather than awkward. And this feeling was more dizzying, more addling than the jarring tiltings of this drunken world.

"That's the night James caught us," Sirius murmured, grinding his crotch against my erection. "That required some explaining, eh? 'Hello, mate. Yes, we have been fucking each other since fifth year. Funny that you should mention it... How insightful!' "

"Sirius?"

"Hmm?"

"Let's go home."  
****

"Damn door," I muttered furiously, jamming the key into the lock, the cogs groaning and clicking reluctantly. We had attempted to apparate into our flat but had misjudged and appeared in the stairwell. There ought to be a law against apparating while drunk. We're lucky we didn't get splinched.

Sirius' arms were wound around me, his tongue whisking mischievously down my neck and his fingers with the buttons on my shirt. I whimpered; the anticipation was pleasantly maddening, the throbbing of my groin was wonderfully unbearable.

And I couldn't get the ruddy door to our flat open.

"Here," Sirius demanded insistently. "I want you here. Or at least let me unlock the door," he said, fingers meandering with agonizing slowness to the front pocket of my pants, removing my wand but not before letting his hand lavish at my groin for a few moments.

I gazed down the deserted corridor. The white doors were like a line of teeth bared in a sneer. I was afraid of who would emerge from those doors to see Sirius brandishing a wand. Or worse yes, Sirius and I pressed against the wall in a snarl of limbs. The neighbors were already wary of us, ushering their children into their flats and ogling dumbly, when we passed, Sirius' arm coiled around my waist, face pressed to my neck. They suspiciously eyed the owls that hovered by our window, rolls of parchment clasped in their beaks. One morning the ominous red envelope of a Howler from Sirius' mother was deposited on our windowsill. She wailed about shaming the Black family name by consorting with werewolves and I could have sworn the entire floor heard her shrieking.

"She doesn't know the half of it, my mum" Sirius had said, as the letter erupted into flames and spewed cinders about the room. "She doesn't know I'm fucking this werewolf," sprinkling my face with delicious kisses. I just hoped the landlord didn't demand an explanation as to exactly how the ceiling and floor of apartment 3B were speckled with burns.

Now, as Sirius prepared to open the door, I glared nervously at the door directly across from us. The peep hole winking deviously in the center.  
"Old Miss Franken," I whispered.

"Yeah, but she's deaf. And mad. The woman hoards Q-tips" Sirius replied.

"But not blind. She sees everything. Don't you think it will seem a bit odd to her to see you casting a spell?"  
Sirius nodded grimly, grimacing in recollection.

When we first moved into the flat we made a rather messy display in the corridor which she had watched, mouth a gaping-O of sick fascination. We saw her curious, greedy, envious eyes peering from behind her door, scuttled into our apartment, and bolted the door. She rang our doorbell that afternoon and I expected her to disapprove but she gave us a houseplant, a plate of brownies, and the knowledge that she thinks "queers are adorable!"

"Mad," Sirius said, glancing anxiously at her door.

I rammed against our door in frustration. Suddenly it gave way and we lurched across the threshold. It was dark and in our frantic fumblings, groping for a light switch and for each other, we toppled over an umbrella stand. The dull thrum of the stand colliding with the floor resonated, the low ringing suspended between us.

"Bloody hell."

In the faint, sickly light pouring from the corridor I could see Sirius sprawled on the floor. With an abrupt jolt he kicked the door which closed with a shuddering slam, plunging us into complete darkness. I found my head cradled in the smooth hollow of his bare stomach, lulled by the swelling and falling of his belly in time with his breath. Deftly I prodded my tongue into his navel. I savored the grating, strangled laughter that poured from his lips. My fingers sauntered downwards, slipping under his jeans, teasing and gliding over his flesh.

"No underwear? No boxers?" I murmured to his navel.

"I'm optimistic."

I undid the button of his jeans, drawing the zipper leisurely down, delighting in the way Sirius' hips buckled and his eyes widened in aroused anticipation. With languid strokes of my tongue I took him into my mouth, intoxicated with the sliding of his erect flesh under my lips and mouth. With a jagged cry or chuckle and a shudder of his limbs he soared to his climax, releasing into my eager mouth.

Barbs of feverish pleasure stung my crotch and as Sirius spiraled down from his climax I knew he could feel my erection pressing into him.  
With a rough whisper of "Moony" and a clean pivot he kissed me firmly on the mouth. His lips wandered downward, languishing at my neck, nipples, and navel; ever territorial and fiercely devoted he was marking me, with the imprint of his teeth and bruises from his lips.

We were caught in the moment, suspended in the web of time, with his mouth hovering over my arousal and hands locked through mine.


	4. Epilogue

**Envy**

**Epilogue**

It's morning. Glaring sunlight beats through the open window, provoking the pounding of my headache, urging my brain to pummel itself harder against the inside my skull. I am hungover but the body beside mine is warm, slender but fed, and very much there. He isn't a wraithlike pixie who after his messy release will leave me stranded on the bathroom floor, filthy with his scent. He is a lover, in ways both passionate and innocent. He is not riddled with the stings of needles but rather spotted with the marks of my teeth and lips. He is mine, not the whore of his addictions. He is here and will be here tomorrow and the next day and the day after that.

I am hungover and though the sun glowers angrily down at me it is a beautiful day. I gaze back at Sirius, asleep on our bed (how we ended up there I don't know), handsome face serene and innocent, almost foolishly so.

Suddenly I understand why he brought me to that club last nigh. I know why he urged me onto the dance floor, frolicking with these hollow, painted shells. He wanted me to see the difference, the difference between our love and theirs.

He's a devil, he's a hellion. He'll consort with these people but he isn't one of them. He'll dance with them and for a while be immersed in their flimsily gaudy world. And he isn't one of them because of me. Because of my love. Our love.

And then I walk to kitchen to make us breakfast. He'll eagerly drink the coffee and, famished, he will devour the toast. But he'll turn away from the eggs though, turn away from those empty egg shells of people, painted like garish Easter eggs. Sirius doesn't like eggs. Sirius has never liked eggs.

* * *

Beta'd by Olivia who,   
Deserves in lieu   
Of thunderous applause   
Or even mention in this humble clause   
A deft flick of my middle finger   
And a scathing look that does linger. 

**Fin**


End file.
